The Darkest Night
by Rebecca Hb
Summary: G1: Smokescreen takes charge of Bluestreak after the Autobots rescue him from the destruction of his home city, Kalamata. On Cybertron, pre-Ark Launch.


**The Darkest Night**

Lot of soot in the air, Smokescreen noted. Prowl was turning grey from it.

"I want you to spend some time with the new recruit," Prowl said in a low voice, his back to the shivering grey vehicle that Ratchet was currently checking over.

Smokescreen sat on a heap of rubble that used to be part of a shrine to the river, cleaning his rifle. He kept his face turned towards that, rather than give anyone looking at him the idea that Prowl had just said something worth noting. "Get to know him and help him to settle in? Sure, I can do that."

"Good." Prowl lowered the binoculars from his optics and finally turned away from the smoking wreckage that was all that remained of Kalamata. Decepticon tactical strike, and a nasty one. The river port had done a lot of good for the Autobots and without it, getting supplies where they needed to be was going to be even harder.

Probably why Prowl looked so grim.

Smokescreen finished with his rifle and wandered over to the young mech just as Ratchet finished up with him. The good doctor looked ready to give the kid some kind words to maybe ease some of the wrenching horror on his face, but then Smokescreen slid himself into the equation.

"Hey," he said quietly, crouching down next to the kid. "I'm Smokescreen. What's your name?"

"B-bluestreak," the young mech said, turning the purest blue optics he'd ever seen on Smokescreen.

"Well, Bluestreak, as soon as the others get back, we'll be returning to our base-"

"I'm coming with you." Something hard shone out from behind the shellshock for a moment, then vanished once more.

Smokescreen nodded. Prowl was right to call the kid a new recruit then. Prowl usually was. "All right. Prowl will probably have someone run you through your paces to see where your inclinations lie, and then assign someone to start training you in a few days. You'll probably hate that - I know I did the first few weeks." He kept on talking for a while, mixing together Bluestreak's probable future with his own experiences in the past and concentrating on the light side of things. It seemed to help the kid.

When it was time to head back to base, Bluestreak tailgated him all the way.

* * *

"There's a lot of people in there," Bluestreak said, his voice barely audible.

Smokescreen glanced at the kid standing just in the shadow of the lounge door, then out at the lounge. An intent group that included Sideswipe and Ratchet were rattling dice off to the side of the room, Prowl had his reports spread across one corner, a couple of minibots seemed to be plotting something at the bar, and a few of the other local Autobots, well, lounged. Not what Smokescreen called high traffic, and certainly not as high-traffic as the Kalamata bars got during slow nights.

"There's a fair number of people," Smokescreen said neutrally.

"More than I expected," Bluestreak breathed. He jerked a glance at Smokescreen and gave a little shrug. "No offense, but I thought you guys who found me were it around here."

Smokescreen took in the kid's posture, the way he held his door-wings in a more relaxed state than he had even since he'd gotten back to the Autobot base. Hnh. Nice to know there's some backup, isn't it? "You should see the lounge when things really get hopping. Or if either Prime, Magnus, or Elita have to pass through here with their forces."

"Oh!" Bluestreak brightened just a few candelas. Then he pointed at Sideswipe's group. "What game are they playing?"

"I can't tell from here," Smokescreen said in amusement. He laid his hand on Bluestreak's forearm. "We could go find out, though."

Bluestreak turned toward him, the edge of his door-wing brushing against Smokescreen's. "Would they let us in? I don't have any dice on me, they were-"

Smokescreen interrupted before the kid could put himself back where he didn't need to be. "Not a problem. I carry several extra sets, so if you want to join in, you can borrow one of mine."

"Oh. Thank you!" The smile Bluestreak gave him was almost dazzling.

Not a problem at all, Smokescreen thought as he led the way into the lounge.

* * *

"Hey," he said softly, wrapping his hands around Bluestreak's before the kid could toss the dice again. "Hey, we're both out. You don't need to roll anymore."

Bluestreak blinked at him, optics already so dim that the blink was barely noticeable. The kid had taken to Battle like he'd been dicing his entire life; from the way he tossed his dice, Smokescreen was pretty sure he had. Right now, though, Bluestreak was trying to drop into defrag, and in the middle of a dice-duel between Sideswipe and Prowl wasn't the place to do it.

"Let's go back to my room," he suggested. "There's an empty bunk there since Jazz got transferred."

Bluestreak nodded and gently tugged his hands loose from Smokescreen's. "Okay. Sure."

He made their apologies to Ratchet who just waved them off with an admonishment to let him know if there was any trouble with Bluestreak. From the way the medic kept turning back to the dice-rolling in the middle of Smokescreen's words, he didn't think his apologies would be conveyed to the others. Then again, he didn't think they'd care one way or another.

Bluestreak followed him docilely to the barracks and curled up on the bare slab of the second recharge berth. Soon his optics went dark and his door-wings slackened.

Smokescreen took a good look at him there, amid the emptiness that used to be all filled with Jazz's clutter. It had been a bad moment to come off-shift and find their room emptied out, at least until Prowl informed him that Jazz had already left to his new post. There was no time for good-byes in a war it looked like they would only win by the steel of their tires, but it was better if they'd just left rather than gotten shot.

Speaking of not getting shot, he owed Prowl a report on his impressions of the Kalamata incident.

* * *

Smokescreen snapped awake, optics focusing on the screen in front of him. Huh, his report needed a conclusion. Not important right now - what was he listening to?

In the darkness, he could hear increasingly loud distressed noises coming from his guest. Metal scraped against the bunk, and Smokescreen let himself fall to the side as if he was falling out of his chair. It brought his head down below his door-wing, and if any enemies thought he was a clumsy oaf, so much the better. He peered through dim optics at Bluestreak's bunk.

No one else obvious in the room. The kid thrashed on the berth, yelping softly.

"Hey," he said as he moved over to kneel down beside Bluestreak. "Hey, boot up. Don't stay in this-"

His words didn't seem to penetrate whatever was going on inside the kid's head, so he curled his fingers around Bluestreak's arm and gave him a little shake-

The kid's eyes lit up, and he tried to sit bolt upright and turn towards Smokescreen at the same time. It didn't work so well with his processors in the middle of a cold boot-up, and the two of them crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs as Bluestreak lurched off the bed. Smokescreen winced as his door-wings banged against the floor, then gingerly relaxed his grip on Bluestreak's arm.

"Well," he said, looking into the kid's front grill. "Sorry about that."

Bluestreak shifted against him, inadvertently thrusting his grill further into Smokescreen's face. Muzzily, he asked, "Smokey?"

"Yeah, it's me, Bluestreak. How are you doing?" His thumb rubbed slow circles against the other mech's arm, trying to keep Bluestreak calm.

The kid wiggled and squirmed until he got his hood tucked more or less perpendicular to Smokescreen's own front. Their chevrons clicked against each other, and Smokescreen could feel the soft susurrations of airflow as Bluestreak opened his mouth to speak. "Would you do me a favor, Smokescreen? I know it's kind of impolite to ask after everything else you and yours have done for me today, but I really need this, really **bad**."

"What sort of favor?"

The only answer Bluestreak gave him was a kiss. It cut into Smokescreen's mouth, and his hands gripped Bluestreak's arms as sobs shook the kid's shoulders. But Bluestreak didn't break the kiss, just pushed into it harder, and Smokescreen couldn't bring himself to break it either. Not while he was swallowing the kid's soft weeping down his own mouth, not while the soothing rumble of his engines could press into Bluestreak and soften those first wild sobs into something quieter.

It was a bitter, despairing kiss, but Smokescreen liked to think that what came afterwards helped uplift Bluestreak.

**-End-**


End file.
